


smoke and lighters

by piggy09



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7182878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Think I’d look good with one of these?” Sarah asks, and she’s so close, and one step closer would put her between Rachel’s knees. She plants the stick on the ground, leans forward with the heels of both her hands on the head of it. “Distinguished.” The last word is more of a breath. She’s so close. </p><p>“Give me a pencil,” Rachel says, “and we can find out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	smoke and lighters

**Author's Note:**

> This week's episode has made me so _ready_ for the Rachel/Sarah fandom to come back. God, I missed this ship.
> 
> Anyways, sorry in advance for the emotional whiplash.

The door of Rachel’s apartment is white, and Sarah doesn’t know why she’s there.

It’s been hours since the coup. She and Felix holed up in a bar somewhere – though the sight of that many shots still makes her stomach twist – and watched the news, watched Evie running and hiding. Watched the way her eyes looked hunted. But instead of going with Felix back to the safe house Sarah had muttered some excuse and now she’s _here_.

She lifts a hand and bangs the heel of it on the door, once, twice. There’s just silence. It goes on and on and Sarah’s hit with the sudden violent image of Rachel sitting on the couch and very slowly standing and limping towards the door and the thought makes her so nauseous that she blurts: “It’s Sarah.”

The silence sharpens for a moment. Then Rachel’s voice, low and wry: “Come in, Sarah.”

Sarah does.

Rachel’s sitting on the couch, like she hasn’t moved at all since the last time Sarah saw her. Her eyes flick to Sarah’s ( _eyes_ , shit), bright and interested, and that’s when Sarah realizes she’d walked in here with a sentence on the tip of her tongue that was something like _that thing you did, that was really – good. You did good. Thank you._ Instead of being that stupid she starts walking in circles around the apartment, near the walls. Her hands tuck into the pockets of her leather jacket. Like she’s afraid.

“Did you need something, Sarah,” Rachel says, and Sarah doesn’t look to see if Rachel’s watching her.

“Where’s your husband,” Sarah says, instead of answering.

“Ira,” Rachel says, “is not my husband.” She sounds amused – like Sarah’s a dog that’s just done a mildly clever trick. She doesn’t answer Sarah’s question either.

“Would’ve thought you’d be celebratin’,” Sarah says. “Drink a glass of wine, enjoy the fact that you’re right back where you were again. Cheers to that, by the way.”

“Maybe I was waiting for you,” Rachel says, voice rich with a joke Sarah doesn’t get. Something sharp and hot twists through her stomach. She stops walking abruptly, course-corrects, walks closer to the couch. Rachel’s chin tilts upwards, dagger-sharp. She doesn’t stop looking at Sarah.

“Well,” Sarah says. “Here I am.” She steps closer, and closer, and closer, just to watch the way Rachel tilts her neck up to meet her. Sarah doesn’t know what metaphor to use – lioness or anglerfish. She reaches down and picks up Rachel’s walking stick again, just to watch Rachel’s eyelashes flutter. Rubs her thumb in little circles over the head of it.

“Think I’d look good with one of these?” Sarah asks, and she’s so close, and one step closer would put her between Rachel’s knees. She plants the stick on the ground, leans forward with the heels of both her hands on the head of the cane. “Distinguished.” The last word is more of a breath. She’s so close.

“Give me a pencil,” Rachel says, “and we can find out.” Her voice is a low breath too, rough purr of a sound.

There’s a second of locked eye contact where neither of them blink and Rachel is _so_ close, close enough for Sarah to do any number of stupid things. She leans back, flashes her teeth.

“Clever. Didn’t know you were funny.” She leans the cane back up against the couch, lets her fingers brush lightly up against it as she leaves it there.

“I’ve had plenty of time,” Rachel says, “to…” and then she just – stops, again, mechanical bird left to wind down. Sarah watches her lips and tongue work and strain. A few seconds in, Rachel’s eyes hop back up to Sarah’s. There’s a plea in them, and it’s awful. Sarah looks away.

“To what,” she says roughly, taking a step back and folding her arms defensively over her chest. “Go on, say it. This what you imagined? This what you wanted?”

She’s close. She’s too close. She’s looming over Rachel and it just makes her think of the first time they met, Rachel standing over her. _The most important thing in this for you is protection_ , and the thin pale skin of Rachel’s throat. Her wrists are thin, now, they are bone, and Sarah standing over Rachel like a wall, and the most important thing in this for you—

“It’s what was necessary,” Rachel says, “for the good of all of us. And Project Leda. Evie had to be—”

“Bullshit,” Sarah says. “That’s not an answer.”

Rachel stares at her for a moment. Looks away. Exhales through her nose. There’s something so sad in her eyes and her protruding collarbones and the way one eye lags behind just slightly when she blinks and Sarah reaches out and grabs Rachel’s chin, yanks her head so she’s looking at Sarah again. Her eyes are so wide, pupils huge and black.

“Don’t touch me,” Rachel says, words crawling from her throat like a plea.

“Tell me,” Sarah says, and the words are supposed to be angry but they come out just as pleading. “Just give me a bloody _answer_ for once.”

“Is this what I wanted,” Rachel whispers. Sarah doesn’t say anything. Rachel looks at Sarah, just – _looks_ at her. Then her eyes go cold, her face goes cold.

“Yes,” she says, and Sarah leans forward and smashes her mouth against Rachel’s.

It’s horrible and it’s awkward, because Rachel’s face is still crushed in Sarah’s hand and Sarah has to bend down to kiss her. But both of their mouths taste like unspoken words, and it’s what Sarah wanted. Sarah wanted: this.

She lets go of Rachel’s chin slowly, like Rachel is a bird in her hand that’s going to take flight. Rachel doesn’t move. Her lips part against Sarah’s, too soft by far, and she makes this awful little hiccupping sound. _Stop_ , Sarah thinks at her urgently, but she just kisses Rachel harder. Rachel’s hands, Rachel’s fingers light on the skin above Sarah’s ribs. It was stupid of her – wearing a shirt that bared her belly. Like the weaker animal.

Sarah finally moves forward, straddles Rachel’s lap, presses her body up against Rachel’s like a challenge. Rachel’s hands are moving over the skin of her stomach; they turn into claws on Sarah’s back, scrape down her spine. Sarah lets out a choked breath into Rachel’s mouth and she can feel Rachel smirking. Is this what you wanted? What you imagined? Was Rachel lying here in the dark last night and thinking about Sarah’s lips on her lips and Sarah’s hands around her throat?

She bites Rachel’s lip, hard, instead of asking her that question. She imagines Rachel’s lipstick scraping off onto her teeth and it makes her _growl_ , a low rough angry sound. She rolls her hips forward and Rachel gasps again; her hips buck awkwardly against Sarah’s, just a small little twitch. She’s still wearing that stupid coat, those stupid trousers, Sarah hates her, Sarah hates this outfit and this couch and Rachel and the fact that Rachel has a cane now and it’s her _fault_. She hates all of it. Her hands bang around between their ribcages, fingers fumbling for the buttons of Rachel’s coat. Somewhere near Rachel’s hips – and she’s thinking about Rachel’s hips, now, and her own twitch forward again.

She finds the buttons. Rachel’s fingers are trailing lightly over the band of Sarah’s bra and Sarah makes another angry growl of a sound, stops unbuttoning so she can grab Rachel’s hands and put them on her breasts. God, she thinks, and: hurt me, and: hurt me. And Rachel does, squeezes too hard, shoves a thigh up so it’s a pressure between Sarah’s legs. Bites at Sarah’s lip. One or both of them is breathing too heavy, sending them swaying like shipwrecks.

Sarah unbuttons Rachel’s coat, shoves it down her arms; there’s a long stilted moment where they’re both writhing, trying to get it off of Rachel entirely. Rachel breaks the kiss and pulls Sarah’s shirt off. For a moment they just breathe, ragged, and Sarah watches Rachel’s eyes trail down her chest and stomach and down to her hips. Back up again. Sarah reaches out, slow and gentle, and wraps her hand around Rachel’s throat. Rachel lets her.

“Say it again,” she says.

“Yes,” Rachel says. “ _Yes_.” Her pulse is rabbit-fast bird-fast prey-fast under Sarah’s thumb. Sarah hates her, and it feels so soft and sick. She leans forward and captures Rachel’s mouth with her own again.

She thinks Rachel’s mouth should taste like spearmint and cold glass – but it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. Sarah trails her hand down Rachel’s throat, splays it over her breastbone, moves her mouth to replace her hand. She presses her mouth to Rachel’s jugular, feels Rachel’s pulse under her lips. “Is this what you wanted,” she whispers, and Rachel says “ _Yes_.” So Sarah bites down hard. The sound that Rachel makes is like an animal in a trap. She’s gotten Sarah’s bra off, now, and the circles she’s tracing around Sarah’s nipples with her fingernails are making Sarah want to rip out her throat with her teeth. Or – something, crossed wires, something dangerous. Sarah unbuttons Rachel’s shirt with frantic clumsy fingers and splays her hands over Rachel’s bra, feel how hot her palms are in comparison to the lace. Her breathing jumps and sobs against Rachel’s throat. Rachel’s hands tangle in her hair, like they don’t know what to do with themselves.

“Is this what you wanted,” Rachel says, the words a sad quiet sing-song. Sarah pauses with her teeth above Rachel’s jugular. She leans back; Rachel’s hands drop from Sarah’s hair, Sarah’s hands drop from Rachel’s breasts.

“No,” Sarah says. Pauses. “Yeah.” Pauses again. “No.”

Rachel makes a noise that is something like _mm_ , like the noise Sarah made a million million years ago when Rachel opened her mouth on this couch and tried to speak.

“It was good,” Sarah says, “that thing you did.”

Rachel actually _laughs_ , a small exhausted sound. She looks a wreck. Sarah wants to hear the exact sound she makes when she falls apart. “That wasn’t why I did it,” she says. She looks away, across the room. “And I don’t think now’s the time.”

Sarah watches her swallow, watches her tongue dart out to the smeared lipstick on her lip. Her skin is starting to get cold. Goosebumps. Because she can’t help herself, her hand finds Rachel’s throat.

“Why do you keep doing that,” Rachel says, “if you’re never going to press down.”

“I don’t know,” Sarah says, and she leans in and kisses her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Smoke and lighters, thought I could catch a plane  
> "If I'm being honest this isn't worth anything"  
> She says in a voice like I'm all she needs 
> 
> So I take it in stride 'til it's us alone  
> And she says nothing as she takes off her clothes  
> It's not enough but, it's too much, I'm sure 
> 
> Soon you'll be on my lips, you have my eyes  
> But the taste of your skin's like rain and wine  
> Maybe we'll right the wrongs by intertwining them  
> \--"[Firearms](https://eorroxsox.bandcamp.com/track/firearms)," Jenna Mason-Brase
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
